Bedtime Story

Once she came down from the ceiling
Hair frayed at the ends
In her eyes a spinning and reeling
Fingers bleeding from the tips

She said she had been talking to strangers
That they had promised her a secret to keep 
An addict of adrenalin and danger
She ignored the dark circles of sleep
and battled the night like the man in the moon quarrling with wolverine

She sprang into step as she fell into bed
Like a feather light on her feet
Teaching fine threads of dreaming strings how to weave lucidly
Humming an ambient melody
With her toes tapping out the beat 
She would sing

Sleep is a stanger I met down a dark alley
A bottle of wine 
Clenched in his fist
swallowing zzz's   
Hoping to catch a glimpse
of black backdrop eyelids
And once you're there 
Waking can be much
Harder than you think

Nemo needs you now
You're on your own sweet dreamer
There's stars enough out there for all
Still you stay locked in your bedchamber 
Tangled in a sheeps disguise
Sweating out your sanity
From the night the sandman stole your eyes 
Flip wakes you morn reality

Nobody wants a nightmare
To be helpless in their own head
Pinned down and paralized
With feet of lead
You could run to nowheres end
And never have left

And sleep is a begger I met down a dark alley
A backhanded bet and a coin flip
An albotross a thought lost
The dream you dream to forget
And the ceiling is higher then you recall 
The lights won't turn on or off
Youre running from yourself
Just to wake up with yourself
So make the most of what you can get
    
 

you and your sad song

Been waking up with Buckley 
Rollin round my head like a hangover
Been wicked in the bones 
Broken fever stones
Been feelin more like leftover
Each city day and fog here 
Tired bolder, growin older
Then I have in years

Been waking up with Buckley
Lyrics bouncin off my brain
Screaming like an engine
Singin about downin again
Been reliving all these stories
Never to be told
Been limping into morning
And longing for the road

One that leaves me on your doorstep
And wraps me in your arms
One that begins in sunsets
That we can share as ours

One that takes me far from here
And closer to my heart
One to make me face the fears
That worm their way throughout my thoughts

Been waking up with Buckley
And a ringing in my ear
Pulling myself out of a hat
If that hasn't been yet made clear
Been wonderin what time of day
You wake up on your coast
And if you put the coffee on
Before or after your first smoke  

I've been waking up to Buckley
Wailing lonely in the corner of the room
Dreaming of the day when instead I'll be waking up to you

 

the snow sits softly
on a porch a gave myself to years ago
it makes a promise I could never keep
to die here
to live here
I see the intersection poetry
I see the future pulling past
I can get out of here
raise the sails and set the mast
you'll be beauty pictures
you'll be my last real agenda
I've not seen anything
to tell me I was never here
make me ask the questions
to the story I tell myself
so I can come back here
foresaking heart and health
let me back one more time
so I can see the cutest things
I'd only cut myself up for back then

nothing of everything

i liked it better in your apartment

when it was summer & it was stifling hot

so hot it made the sidewalks expand

& let the ground breathe

but no, not like me

the stagnancy of your air

made it difficult to stretch my lungs

it’s not anything like that,

no, not anymore

we’re closing in on winter

& you’ll soon be bitter cold

so cold it makes the sidewalks contract

& my first conscious breath will be stolen

when we lie in a bed

so frozen it makes us tremor

& you don’t hold me at night

no, not the way you used to

in the throws of loveless limbs

using yesterday evening’s cigarette butts

to move tonight’s ashes aside

blowing smoke into your ceilings

between sips of whiskey & cider

making sure your poisons are kept pure

i see those other women in your eyes

wearing your lovers’ clothes

& your coughs don’t concern me

cause i’ve got one more smoke than you

& if i could just get inside your head

i’d pack my shit & leave

just remember,

your hair’s gonna fall out

your teeth are gonna rot

your ears will go deaf

your eyes will go blind.

you’ll eventually think yourself to death

which i find foolish

when it’s a hell of a lot easier

to drink yourself dry.

The important dates are never really important to me
like the day I graduated was annoying and my 30th
birthday will never be as epic as my 28th a bonfire
illegally set on Long Beach Island with some friends
alone and cold under those October stars with a bottle
of rum. Holidays are just days that my job recognizes
as days off. The real holidays that I work for that have
the most meaning to me don't mean much to anyone else.
Like flag day every summer in my friends garage
or the 8 hour drive to see a groundhog predict
the weather, and October 10th something I think
we made up celebrating the existence of New Jersey
Diners and every cup of coffee we've had there.

How to Open a Hot Dog Stand

You may open up a hot dog business
and your passion may be hot dogs
and you may love the hot dogs
that you make and perhaps you
like hot dogs with whipped cream
or maple syrup and thats fine
you can have those hot dogs
readily available when someone
wants to try something new
but have your sauerkraut
and baked beans and ketchup
and mustard and let customers
relish in the type of hot dogs
they know and love. Then
when they are tired of their
usual hot dogs you give them
a hot dog or two for free
with peanut butter and let
them discover your creation
on their own. They'll love
that its something new
after all the comforts
of the old and your hot dog
stand will profit and one day
you may own a truck shaped
like a hot dog. That's how
you start a hot dog business.

The hardest thing about E-books
is remembering to read the book.
It's not lying on my floor waiting
to be browsed through but in bits
in this flat machine. Words wait
to be downloaded immediately,
much slower than a quick glance
to the side of my bed. By the time
I turn it on it's over and I don't want
to read anything. Perhaps I will print
out the covers of books and throw them
on the floor to remind me of their existence.
Ill stare at the covers as the screen
tries to load so I can read that novel
I've been meaning to read or essay
on reading or writing to remind myself
that I like things simple.

How Disneyland Works

This is how I imagine Disneyland works.
When some unfortunate child or adult
to big or to small gets their head
loped off on a roller coaster,
falls through the loose seat belts,
or crushed between cars.
The blood has to be cleaned
right away or else it stains
and no one wants to get
on a ride with blood stains
on the seats.
Vomit is so much easier
to clean and probably
takes less time with
a quick hose down.
I imagine all the costumed workers
get together in their costumes
with buckets and sponges
clean off the plastic seats
and distract the people waiting
in line with a short cartoon
of the real characters
they are pretending to be.

i gave a boy my heart

then he stole my guitars

he's famous now

i imagine they're in a corner

sitting on stands

nearing 1/8 of an inch of dust coating

or maybe they're boxed up in storage

to be sold years from now

for hundreds, maybe thousands

or maybe he plays them

from time to time

maybe they were stolen from him

then stolen from that girl

and stolen from that guy

i don't miss my guitars

i just hope that whoever has them

still gives 'em some attention

A Night for You

meet me by the card house
my room is two oh four
I'll take you on your birthday
and toss you out the door

I'll delegate your future
I'll make you hit the brim
toss it all on black jack
but the payout odds are slim

remember sixteen living days
remember your first shots
blow the candles out on the balcony
turn the light off on your plots

keep the screaming in your head
you have grown to hide these things
celebrate a year of dark
and wish for a futures' lesser sting

Where She Cuts You

I have smelled the gasoline
you're planning on spraying out
I can see the vengeance in your face
the plug-in chainsaw in the closet
was not put there by accident
take a breath
take a breath
the white in your knuckles
is a tell all picture
the chemicals you're mixing
will never clean a sink
you can be a better man
take a breath
take a breath
your "all black" costume can be set aside
your favorite blade can rest
drop the drink and loosen the knots
let her see where she cuts you
but give her the time to regret it
take a breath
take a breath

I love right angles
but still, I'll take
a wrong angle
any day

Central American Feathers

Turn the sheets & clean up the mess

Remnants of last night's love

"Where lovin's at lovin's best,"

Says the Guatemalan motel maid

In her apron, fresh-pressed

Her immaculately white shoes

& a knee-length peach dress

Steamship Gambler

press me to your hollow chest
welcome me into your nest
offer me a lip or breast
and let me find a vein

carve some dice from clumps of clay
roll them 'cross the pine decay
make the bet and drop the pay
don't forget your cane

the steamship has the men with will
with stomachs that your pills can fill
to shatter memories of the bill
you've put on your account

the fishnet trap between your legs
can warm them while they empty kegs
while every other begger begs
you ask for an amount

the sunlight wrestles down the waves
and takes the dark the moonlight saves
and puts us all in dockyard graves
while whistling to the sea

toss your money in the pot
win roaches, razors, slugs and shots
put your knuckles in a knot
and pray for what will be

Re-Living

we walked this
frozen soil when
the sun would
burn it red

I thought you'd be
married now and maybe
I'd be dead

you're still free
and I'm still me
unbroken in this bed

breathing hard and
heaving from
the hungers that
we've fed

A Kid I Met at The Mug Once

Tommy came to the bar,

started ordering beers,

talkin’ about

how much money he “made”

begging at the boardwalk

in Atlantic City that day

He said it was real easy

“just tell ‘em

you got lost and

you need to get bus fare or

that your parents

kicked you out of the house

and you’re so hungry.

They’re all rich,

richer than me, at least.

Rich people love giving

their money away

if they think it’s charity.”

Soon,

he wanted to move on

to something stronger

“Give me the strongest

drink you got in the house”

he said.

I poured him a double

of Dewars, neat.

He coughed after one big gulp,

expecting something more

like Vodka, I imagine.

“Damn,” he said,

and I sat back and smiled,

knowing he was

now a Scotch man

and wondering

when the begging

would get boring

and he’d move on

to something stronger.

God's The Bartender

We’re all stumbling home

drunk in the dark

and God’s the bartender

kicking us out at 2 am.

Sometimes he lets us stay

until 3, but

that’s only

on weekends in the summer.

So we’re stumbling, drunk,

blind:

partly from the booze,

one eye only half-open,

the other one

completely fucking useless

and we’re pounding our

fists against cell phones

trying to call the girl

that always comes over

and heals our wounds

when we’re this drunk;

when we’re in this much pain.

and in the morning,

through the hangover,

she resembles an angel,

one of God’s

living, breathing, creatures...

just remember,

She works for that bastard.

Smile

When we were young
we climbed onto swings
and tightly wound the chain
until the world started
spinning, and we lay immobile
at the center of creation
leaning back with arms spread
hoping to catch
and be caught

we had pocket cameras
and worried about the shots
dragging friends and drugs and
cars and loves into and out of
frame.

I would love to be in that
picture on the grass
in the April sun. I would
cut the river out and put
it in a scrap book. I
would have dug
into the snow
for pixels with sharp
edges
and maybe the smell
of chemicals from old fashioned
film, because light
doesn't hit a diode
quite the way it does
a piece of dried out
Kodachrome, does it?

Maybe the posing
was more important
than the picture

you are who you are when you are who you are for who you are

you who are are who are

I am as I am to you

following movement creates
the illusion of moment
creates the illusion of
existence
creates
a whole world
and understanding this
you smile brighter

Jacket Weather

This jacket has seen

sunrises;

exploding stars

and eclipses

of the moon

This jacket has seen

the coldest mornings;

women huddled in cars

and whiskey.

This jacket has seen

pre-dawn West Virginia;

plains and valleys

of Ontario;

Every mile

of the Northwest Corridor;

I-95 in at least

13 different states.

It’s seen love

help it on,

tear it off,

throw it on the floor and

walk all over it.

This jacket has seen

great poets spill beer and

great drinkers spill poetry

in late night bars

somewhere in South Florida.

This jacket has seen wounds,

the best and the worst of them;

heartbreaks,

the best and the worst of them;

This jacket has seen life;

the best and the worst of it.

Where's The Jazz?

They had names

for the sounds they would make

and a love for

all things alive, like

music, damp city streets

and the ocean.

They would lay their hands

on old piano keys

and make them sing again.

Breath new life

into old brass

and make it squeal

again

They had

SaltPeanuts. Salt

Pea-nuts.

They had soul.

They had music.

They had Bop

and what do we have?

Where is Charlie Parker?

Where is Dizzy?

Where is jazz?